


Colors

by carnivalia



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, highschool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnivalia/pseuds/carnivalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya Maryam coming to terms with her sexuality in an unforgiving, highly religious household. Rated teen for sexual themes and minor violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Um, unfortunately there's a whole lot of italics that didn't get moved over properly. Sorry! I tried to go over it and add it but there's quite a bit, pardon if some sentences read funny. It's likely because of that.
> 
> This story is meant as a way to capture an experience similar to my own and, in a way, give people who may be going through something similar a little piece of something that is familiar. To every queer youth reading this who may be living in a troubled household or faces bullying and discrimination due to your sexual identity, I promise you that outside of the confines of your home and highschool it gets better. Much better.
> 
> With that being said, enjoy.

It’s quiet and dark. The numbers on your alarm clock are blinding, baringly red: 3:59 AM. It’s clear you won’t be sleeping much. You roll over and feel the soft touch of fabric and the coolness of the empty part of your bed, stingingly comfortable. You’re sweating, but not because of the sticky mugginess of the summer.

_There is nothing wrong with me,_ your mind says ferociously. _There is nothing, nothing wrong with you, Kanaya Maryam._

When you close your eyes, you can feel her hands on your waist, fingertips burning holes like fire through the fabric. You feel your heartbeat in your throat and you want to cough it out as her pretty brown-blonde hair falls over her shoulders in wild curls and you notice the blue, blue, blueness of her eyes behind her glasses. Instead, you wrap an arm around her waist and the cool metal of the studs on her belt presses into your arm like little points of diamond. When she breathes into your mouth it is not the scent of strawberries you have come to love, but the sharp bitter smell of alcohol on her breath.

“What’s the matter, Kanaya?” She throws back her head and laughs stupidly, like a cartoon villain. “You’re all red, just let loose a little...it’s not every day a pretty girl wants to kiss you, is it?”

_I wanted it to happen_ , you want to say. _But not like this._

You wake up to the raucous sound of your alarm clock. 6:00 AM. You slam a fist to the top of your alarm clock, silencing the harsh beeping. Hunching over the sink you splash freezing water on your face, taking a hard look in the mirror. Pale, sharp features, bright green eyes. Faded red hair with an inch or so of dark brown roots at the top of your head. Dark bags under your eyes betray your long night, and you rub a thick line of concealer under each. Still the same Kanaya you have always been.

 

Hands on your back are the first thing you wake up to, rocking you gently from side to side. The world blurs into existence and a face you would know anywhere focuses: Pasty white skin, soft orange hair, and a generous dusting of freckles over the bridge of a crooked nose. An almost comical scowl permanently fixed on his face. Books line the walls behind you and the cool feeling of wood and paper digging into your skin pull you further into reality.

“Sorry, Karkat…” You sit up straighter, stifling a yawn. “I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.”

The stocky boy sits down across from you, looking carefully into your eyes. When he speaks, it’s still strained and angry, but there’s a note of concern. “Alright...well...try to get some more then, I guess. Who else am I going to get the homework from if you aren’t doing it?”

You laugh a bit. “Gamzee?”

“Oh come on. Don’t even joke about that!” He hisses. You laugh. “I haven’t seen him in ages, actually.”

You smile at the ginger boy. “It’s Gamzee. I’m sure he’s fine.” He can’t seem to meet your eyes.

The door to the library swings open and a girl with hair like a beam of sunlight walks in, curls dancing over her shoulders and cascading down her back. The faded blue dye on the tips is a washy greenish color now, but the shade of blue on her lips is striking as usual against her olive skin.

“I-I have to go,” You manage to whisper, shoving books and papers into your bag. Karkat looks at you curiously but knows better than to say anything.

“Kanaya!!! Is that you?” You freeze in place, praying that if you look up she will be gone. When you do look, however, the girl is still beaming down on you with the smile of snake.

“Hi, Vriska.” Your voice comes out painfully weak, even to yourself.

“Oh, it just feels like forever since you gimped out on me at that party!” She slings an arm around your shoulders, the scent of her strawberry scented hair flooding your nostrils.

“You...remember that?” You say quietly, desperately trying to catch Karkat’s eye. _I have to get out of here. Please just leave. Please._

“Oh noooooo!” She laughs loud enough to draw the attention of the table nearby. “I was so fucking smashed I hardly remember walking through the door!”

_She doesn’t remember. You idiot. Of course she doesn’t._

“--But enough about me, Kanny, it feels like it’s been for-ev-er! Like, a month? Why haven’t we spoken?”

“Y-” She cuts you off.

“You have your reasons, I’m sure. Call me when you’re done sulking, ‘kay?” She runs her finger tip between your shoulder blades as she leaves, and you shudder slightly.

_Vriska doesn’t remember._ You don’t know whether to be relieved or hurt, but you feel a strange hotness on your cheeks. You realize you’re trying not to cry.

“You haven’t been speaking to her?” Karkat asks quietly.

“No. Not, not lately,” You say, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of the table.

“Good,” He says, glaring over his shoulder. “Vriska is a fucking bitch.” You laugh, but it sounds forced and strangled. There’s a dry sort of feeling in your mouth and a stinging loneliness you had never felt before.

 

_“Homosexuality is a sin.”_

_Stained glass windows rain color over the priest’s arms, rainbow fractals dancing over his arms and dusting the pages of the books in his hands in shades of purple and red._

_“The only place for those with homosexual relations to go to is hell - where the souls of the damned must burn for eternity.”_

_Your eyes trace the shapes, green over his cheek, a blue circle like a spot over his eye. As his arm raises to the heavens yellow and turquoise run like rabbits over his skin._

_“...And it is us who must pity, who must allow them to repent for their crimes against God. Amen.”_

_Your mother leans her head up from where it is tucked to her chest and unfolds her hands, a triangle of jade falling over her features._

_“Amen,” she says._

 

You have always been afraid of hell. As a child, it was because of roaring demons and fiery monsters tearing you limb from limb. Now, even as you’re unsure whether the God your mother’s heart beats for exists, you are still afraid of devil and what he stands for. You are afraid of the disappointment that your mother would not find you in heaven in the off chance it’s real. You’re afraid of leaving your body in a grave, of your headstone praising a God who would live to see you bathed in sin.

It is because of this you didn’t want to kiss Vriska Serket. It was not because you wanted the first time you kissed another person to be special and full of love. It was not because you hated the way she acted when she was drunk. It was simply because you didn’t want to rot in the depths of hell.

No matter how intoxicating her fingers had felt running over your shoulder blades, no matter how lovely and striking the shade of blue in her irises complimented the cerulean of her lips, no matter how you imagined the curve of her hip would fit the contours of your hand, you told yourself that was the reason why.

You could have gone the rest of your life believing that that moment, so alone despite there being so many people it was hard to breathe, the mingling of body heat and the smell of alcohol strong in your nostrils, was simply a test by an almighty man you cared not to believe in, until Rose Lalonde walked through the door to your first period class.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a quiet sort of amusement about the girl, as her grey eyes scan the room. Her yellow-white hair is short, razored and carefully trimmed in a way that spoke of an expensive trip to the salon instead of the supercuts outside of Walmart - but unbrushed, with a purple headband on for stylistic rather than practical purpose pushed on lazily. She has done her eyeliner messily but with practice, two nearly even smudgy lines like little points in the corners. The flat black of her lipstick is shockingly dark in contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes catch yours for a moment and for some reason you cannot quite put your finger on, it feels as though a sharp piece of ice has been driven through your chest.

“I don’t care much for introductions, honestly,” She’s staring straight at you as her delicate mouth forms the words, corner twitching in what almost looked like a smile. “But if I must, I will. My name is Rose Lalonde, and I am here to do work, graduate, and never see any of you again.” Her words should sting, but instead they just seem indifferent to you in a way that says she is only telling the truth so that you may know it and for no other reason.

Rose walks quickly to the seat as far as possible from anyone else, pulls a thick book from her bag, and begins to read. There are one or two uncomfortable giggles, and a lot of blatant staring, but for the most part she has made no impression on anyone at all.

“Thank you,” the teacher says after a moment, turning back to the board. Rose does not even acknowledge his existence, and the look in her eyes is the look of someone seeing into another world.

 

“Have you seen the new girl yet?” You turn to the boy next to you, tapping on his phone with a bored expression. His near-black hair has a shock of purple dyed into it, a scarf bundled up to his chin although it’s still the tail of summer. The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose are fake, but he would never admit it to anyone.

“...Eridan?” You wait a couple seconds. “Eridan.”

“W-” he looks up slowly, his finger clicking the lock button. “What?”

“I said, have you met Rose Lalonde? The new girl?”

“Gotta say I haven’t even heard of a Rose Lalonde,” His fingers pulled absentminded on the rubber case over his phone. “Why do you care, anyway? No offense, Kan, but you don’t usually make a whole lotta friends. Not for no reason, at least.”

“She has an interesting quality about her,” You’re suddenly interested in the chipping green nail polish on your fingernails, picking triangles out to reveal the pink nail beneath.

“Have you even...fuckin...I dunno, _talked_ to her?”

“Well...No…” Eridan is laughing as a burning sensation creeps over your cheeks and ears. “But I mean, I don’t know how to just go _talk_ to someone.”

“It’s not hard at all, just walk right up and say hi, how ya doin. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with you.”

There is nothing wrong with you.

 

You looked at her four times, and every single time she was looking back at you. It wasn’t in a way where you thought she could possibly believe she was doing something wrong, because she was not embarrassed or flustered when the two of you met eyes, just bored and slightly amused. She would not look away, and once, it looked as though she was going to smile. Today her lips were colored flat black, dark and shapely, the same headband pushed through her messy, short hair. Something about feeling eyes the color of an overcast autumn sky on your back left your heart stumbling over itself, you limbs crying run, run, run away from here. You are afraid of turning around and looking into those grey eyes. You’re afraid that her hair is the color of white sand beach and you’re afraid because it looks impossibly soft and you would love to touch it.

When the bells signals the end of class you are on your feet in a second, walking quickly towards the door as though it was a closing window to freedom. Don’t look back. Just don’t look. Your hand catches on the door frame the second another one closes lightly around your shoulder, and you whirl around to see Rose Lalonde, in all her stunning normality. The black on her lips is glossy and you there’s a constriction in your chest as you realize her eyes are not just grey but flecked with nearly unnoticeable spots of violet.

“Kanaya, right?” She lets go of you, but you can feel the impression her fingers left like an itch.

“Yes,” You say. “And you’re Rose, correct?” You ask, even though you know very well that she is Rose.

“Yes.” She says, smiling brightly. “Sorry to be forward, but I was wondering if you would be willing to be something of a tutor for me?”

“Me?” You say stupidly. And then, “Why?”

“Well, you probably know I just got here...it’s been a few weeks since school began and I have no idea what’s happening to be honest. And you seemed pretty smart, you know, comparatively, so I thought you would be the best person to come to.”

“So compared to every other idiot, you think I’m the least idiotic?”

“Yes.”

“Just by looking at me?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, fine. Meet me here after school and I will escort you.”

“Oh, charming,” Rose mockingly cradles her head in her hands. “Such a gentlewoman!”

You laugh and she smiles over her shoulder, waving a hand. It is only after she’s gone that you realize how firmly your fingernails are dug into your palm.

 

_“The what?” You’re strapped into the passenger seat, legs still too short for the floor, swinging._

_“The homosexual agenda.” Your mother says, turning the car sharply. Bushes and trees rush by you in a blur of greens and browns._

_“What’s a homosexual?” You feel like this is serious, your mother’s thin white-knuckled hand holding tight to the wheel, her expression strained._

_“I believe you, as young as you are have a right to know about it as much as anyone else, so that you may recognize and save others who may be tainted by this sin.” Her eyes flick over to you, an incredibly bright green with a ring of yellow around the edge, her skin whiter than your own. “There are some people who will try to taint you with that sin, Kanaya. They are like adam and eve, in the garden of eden. Do not eat the forbidden fruit, dearest. I don’t want you to go to hell.”_

_You are incredibly afraid, moreso than you have ever been before. Surprised at your mothers vitriolic reaction. Confused. It is the first time you have heard your mother hate._

 

“Kanaya! Hey, wait, I’m sorry I’m late,” Rose is out of breath, hands on her knees. “I...I got lost on the...on the way here.” She wipes her brow and makes a face at her hand.

“Oh no, it’s fine. Do you need to sit down?”

“No, no. No. I’m fine,” She laughs. “I’m out of shape. Where do you want to go?”

“The library, maybe?”

There’s a badly written sign on the door that says “Library closed. Be back tomorrow”. You pull on the door anyway and surprisingly it gives. Inside it’s warm and dark, unusual compared to the normal library feeling of cool air conditioning on your back, but the smell of old paper you have come to love hangs in the air.

“It’s kind of nice in here when no one’s around,” Rose says, pulling a chair out from one of the tables and putting down her bag. Although it’s just past midday outside, the library is lacking windows as if inside, it’s locked in an eternal twilight. Beams of sunlight with glittering dust fall through the window, illuminating the spines of old books. You can’t help but feel like it is more beautiful here than anywhere else in the world, among billions and billions of words.

“It’s nice when people are around too, just not as nice.” You look at her and she laughs quietly. Your fingertips feel light and fuzzy, and you don’t really know where to put your hands. You sit down next to Rose and she moves herself forward so her knees are pressed to yours, the soft fabric of your pants a barrier between her skin and yours. Your throat and chest feel fluttery and constricted all at once.

 

_There is a woman crying in your kitchen, head buried in her hands._

_“My own son,” She says almost incoherently._

_“It’s okay,” Your mother rubs her back gingerly. “There are ways to fix it, bible camps, intervention. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”_

_“My own son,” she repeats quietly. “Lying with another man.” A low moaning noise escapes her throat and your mother wraps her arms around her._

_“We’ll get it fixed. It’s all part of god’s plan.”_

_“But what should I do?! I don’t want him turning my daughter gay!” The woman wails. You are at the corner of the door, witnessing something you know you shouldn’t._

_“If he wishes to be a sinner, he should not be welcome in any house of the lord.” Your loving, kindhearted mother says with a cold note in her voice. “It may be best to ask him to leave.”_

_The woman curls into your mother like a sad, cold animal. There is a quality about the moment that frightens you, like you’re seeing something no one should ever see. It is a moment of mourning for a man who is very much alive._

 

Her straight white-blonde hair is so short it barely brushes her cheeks as she bends over the notebook opened in her lap. She is shockingly bright, everything about her translucent. Where you cut through the crowd like a shock of color, she is the lackthereof, black and white and the thin line of purple across her head like a beacon. You can feel it, like it’s the only thing wailing in your ears, the thumping of blood redder than your hair and the thrumming of your heart against your ribcage and if it’s wrong then why does it feel so right and why does her hair and skin look so soft? And why do you feel the places where her knees are touching you like a burning feeling, a girl you barely know, a girl who you met this morning who introduced herself like a pretentious asshole and picked you out of the crowd because of how you looked?

The quiet turning of pages in the book is grating and it feels slow and deliberate that as she rocks forward her knees slip further between the crack of your legs. Rose looks up at you and smiles, sliding the book towards you, setting a hand gently under her chin.

“It’s just this page that I needed help with.” Reality crashes down on your shoulders like a ton of bricks, foolishness is the redness on your cheeks as you struggle to understand the words written on the page. Numbers focus like little points and suddenly your heartbeat is not struggling against your ribcage.

 _You’re such a fucking idiot, Kanaya. You don’t even know the first thing about her. You don’t know her favorite color, you barely know her name. You are desperate for someone to care about you and that’s all this is. That’s it. There’s nothing else._ And then, _You should get to know her better._

“You….know…” You say slowly, hardly understanding the words pouring from your throat. “We should go get ice cream. We can study afterwards, does that sound okay?”

“That sounds delightful,” Rose says, standing up suddenly. “In fact, that sounds much better than studying.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

_The sun beats down on your hair, pooling over your shoulders in little dark brown waves. The school bus roars in the distance and the straps on your shoulders are itching to be thrown aside. Your mother is lying in a chair on your patio, towel over her shoulders, blonde dye brushed neatly through her short hair. The sun cuts lines like razorblades through the slats in the roof, little lines of heat criss-crossing over her face. and arms._

_“Guess what, mom! Vriska said she’s my girlfriend!” You say proudly, slinging your backpack off your shoulders and onto the ground. “She said we can get married and stuff some day!”_

_Your mother sits up slowly, eyes wide. “But, honey…” she says, her fingers coming to rest in points on her forehead. “A girl can’t marry another girl, that would just be...silly. Wouldn’t you rather marry a boy, dear?”_

_“No way! Boys are gross! I love Vriska!” you shout, giggling a bit. Your mother does not smile back. As she leans forward, the lines of sunlight run over her nose and mouth in waves. One rests over the bridge of her nose, another lighting up the green in her eyes._

_“I’ll have to have a talk with her mother about this. Kanaya, you are not allowed to speak to Vriska until we talk about this. Do you understand?”_

_“But...why?” Your voice is shaky and tears are picking at the corners of your eyes. You are confused. Your mother leans back into the chair, light rushing over her features again. She closes her eyes and runs her fingers over her temples slowly._

 

“There’s a whole lot of great things about her, actually, you know, we are so alike it’s kind of frightening.” Your head is propped against the backs of your hands, watching the girl kicking ferociously in the pool. Water is sprayed out in a jet behind her, her somewhat thick figure muscular and strong. Her dark skin is light against her jet black hair, long and wet and stuck to her face. She’s looking at you with a wide smile on her face.

“Kanaya, oh my gosh! I’m so happy for you!” Feferi stops kicking for a moment and leans up against edge of the pool, arms crossed on the rough concrete. She pulls pink goggles up and onto her forehead with a snap. Water drips on your skirt and rolls in droplets onto your bookbag.

“Yeah, we went and had ice cream yesterday. She told me to read some books I’ve never heard of - I mean, of course I’ve read _Harry Potter_ , but _Fly by Night_? What IS that? She said it’s good.” Feferi sticks her tongue out.

“Books. Not my thing. I prefer some nice, cold water. Anywaaaaay, keep with it. What else happened on your date?”

“ _Study_ date,” You correct her, feeling a familiar heat slide up your cheeks. “Very well. Like I said, it’s like we were separated at birth. I feel like we’ve been friends forever when I only met her yesterday.”

“Aye, gotcha. Sounds an awful lot like chemistry to me, Kanaya. Just saying!” She giggles like it’s a joke but you are suddenly aware of what others may think of you. “You know I _heard_ Rose Lalonde does not prefer the company of men, if you catch my drift.” She wags her eyebrows, and you feel sick but there is a wiggling of something in your chest that feels strange. Like _hope_.

“I...I’m sure she’s not,” you choke out. “What made you think I was…?”

“I dunnooooooo….” She runs her fingers along the drops of water stuck to the tiles of the pool drain, drawing circles and squares. “I guess I just kind of assumed and never asked.” She looks away, chewing on her lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“No, it’s okay. I,” you reach up to feel the short, soft red hair between your fingers, look down at the crisscrossed lines of plaid on your shirt. “I can see it.” You both laugh. “But in all honesty, my mother would kill me if I so much as looked in another girl’s direction.”

“Your mother doesn’t sound very nice,” Feferi tilts her head to the side, sliding back down into the water. “No offense.”

“She isn’t,” you say, feeling the fabric of your shirt between two fingers. “Offense intended.”

 

“So...are we actually going to study today, or what?” The library was unlocked again, despite it being after regular hours. Roses legs are bent beside her, black stockings under a black dress. The same purple headband ran through the same messy hair. There are papers in an arc around the two of you like a salt circle, warding off demons and monsters who dare step foot into your domain.

“I was under the impression we came in here to sit and stare at the wall,” Rose laughs and it feels easy to laugh too, light and loud like you do not often allow yourself.

“We can do that, too,” You say, and Rose sits up slowly, sliding herself forward until her thigh is pressed to your own. You feel your breath hitch in your throat and she leans forward almost imperceptibly, her chin tilting towards you. “We...I...I mean…” Your hands are sweaty and your heart is a jackhammer against your sternum and you don’t realize what’s happening as your hand curls hard around the corner of your skirt. You are lost in eyes the shade of lavender growing outside of your window, and in folds of black clothes and bright white hair. And she gets close enough to you that you can smell her and she smells like generic store shampoo and freshly washed clothes mixed with dust and paper, and she’s still looking at you, so close to your face her breath is warm against your lips. Your shaking hand finds its way to her cheek and you think, _yes, I want this_ , as you lean forward to close the gap and your eyes flutter shut automatically.

There is electricity inside of you when your lips meet, like a rush of fire that is painfully hot searing your chest. _I want this, I want this_ , your insides are screaming as your other hand cradles the back of Rose’s head and your eyes flicker open to see the perfect lines of black liner on her top lid. Her arms wrap tightly around your waist and you wonder how you lived without this feeling for 17 years. _Yes, yes, yes, I want this so much_ , your mind is running so quickly it feels like you’re thinking nothing at all and you imagine that you’ve been gutted and filled with feathers because of how light you feel. When Rose pulls away her cheeks are dusted with bright red and the black on her lips is worn thin. The places where her hands were feel empty. She looks at you pointedly, her smile mostly visible in her eyes.

If there is a time to be brave, it is now, but you can’t seem to raise your hand from your side. You are staring at each other, focusing on the details of her face, down to her hand clutching at the fabric of her skirt and the curve of her calf against her thigh. There is nothing different about the world, no crack in the ground opened up or eternal hellfire flickering at your ankles because you kissed a girl. Instead there is a pleasant feeling in your chest that is warm and alive and you realize that you are okay, and there is nothing wrong with loving a person who is beautiful inside and out.

You find feeling in your fingertips and it’s almost automatic as they wrap around Roses waist, her eyes widening briefly before her hands fall heavy around your neck. You are so hungry for the feeling you have been denied for so long, that you have been so afraid of. There are fireworks behind your eyelids as you kiss her again, pushing into her, pulling her tightly into you so that you may feel the impression of her body as she laces her fingers into your hair and smiles into your mouth.

You can’t help but think that something that feels so right cannot be wrong.

 

_The sun is a watercolor painting of the first half of the rainbow, as though the familiar blue was stained in gasoline and burned. The sun is an orb of deep yellow shining in ribbons over the wooden planks of the tree house, painting pages of brittle paper taped to the walls in gold._

_“Your time has come, vampire!” Eridan hollars, his shaggy brown hair falling curly over his eyes. He stands over you with a stick held high above his head. You laugh and hold your hands over your head._

_“Oh no, vampire slayer! Please, won’t you spare my life?” You’re laughing too hard and the words come out malformed. Eridan looks disheartened, letting the stick fall down beside him._

_“Come on, Kan, can’t you ever take these games seriously?” He leans against the wall next to you._

_“Sorry, Eridan,” Your turn to look at him, arms crossed in a fake pout. “We’re going to middle school soon, you know, we’re getting kind of old to play pretend.”_

_“It is NOT pretend!” He throws his hands up over his head. “It’s called roleplayin’, Kan, me and Vriska do it all the time.” You’re quiet, watching him picking at the corner of the stick with his fingernails, peeling pieces of the branch off._

_“Hey, Kan?” Eridan is looking away from you as he says it. “Have you ever...you know...kissed somebody?”_

_“Um…” You feel your embarrassment hot on your cheeks and neck. “No. Have you?”_

_“No, and it fuckin’ sucks,” He mumbles. “That’s why I think...you know...we could try. Before we go to middle school like lip virgins or whatever. ‘Cuz I mean, Fef sure as hell won’t do it, and you ain’t kissed someone too so I figure...” He turns to look at you, scooting and closing the short gap between you. He puts his arm across your body and on the ground near your hand._

_“I…” You whisper, as he leans forward towards your face. It feels wrong to have him so close to you. It’s not that Eridan is ugly; the strong contours of his face make him look older than he really is, like a boy from the teen magazines plastered in the checkout aisle of the grocery store, tall and thin like a Disney prince. “I don’t…”_

_It feels wrong to say no to him. There is something inside of you asking if you will be alone forever that is telling you to just see how it feels but the larger part is deeply disgusted by him being in such close proximity to your face._

_“I have to go,” You say loudly, standing up and walking quickly and pulling your self down the ladder. The look on his face as you disappear is mixture of shock and hurt, his lower lip quivering slightly as though he is going to cry._

_Any other girl would enjoy a moment with a handsome boy. Especially one like Eridan, the boy who was always the talk at sleepovers._

_You pretend you were not thinking about Vriska Serket and her pretty blonde hair, and how she told you she picked on Eridan so much because she wanted him to notice her. You pretend you are only thinking about it so you can brag to her about the moment, not that you wished it was her hand near your side. You wish you knew what was happening to your body. And most of all, you wish you had someone you could talk to about it, but not even God’s ears are open to the words of as sinner._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art courtesy of bookofbrian.tumblr.com - thank you so much.


	4. Chapter 4

Your palms are ice as they curl hard around the porcelain edge of the sink. In the mirror your eyes are wild, green ringed in yellow, fingertips drumming quickly on the cold, smooth surface. There’s a sheen of sweat on your brow and your heart is jackhammering inside of your chest. Through the crack in the door you can see that the clock reads 4:26AM, your hair is messy beyond repair and you have to be awake in an hour. You can’t help but feel like you have been here before. It’s fear that is splayed open on your face but it is something else that keeps replaying in your mind like a loop.

It was easy enough to deny it. As long as it didn’t have a name, your sexuality was as good as nothing. It was nameless, shapeless, even to you, denial was plausible possibility. As long as you didn’t say the dreaded word out loud, you were not lying to anyone when you lied by omittance and that simple, certain fact was what had pulled you on strings through your high school days. It was hard to look at yourself in the mirror, as though you were some sort of monster, some fiendish beast torn from the pages of Job sent to bring sin unto the good. At the same time there is a creeping sort of relief that you have finally began to understand yourself.

 _Say it_ , you think, and it’s so loud in your ears that you feel an immense rush of shame incinerating your cheeks as you whisper, “I’m gay.”

And suddenly tears are rolling down your cheeks and the freezing cold of white tile is leaving goosebumps against your bare legs as you slump to the bathroom floor, hands over your mouth to keep the sound in.

“I’m gay,” You’re hiccupping and sniffling and it comes out broken. You press your forehead to the cold tile and it feels like a brand against you that puts the words on display for everyone to see. It’s real now. It’s more real than when your hands were tangled in blonde hair. It’s more real the shade of blue on Vriska’s lips. Because you have given it a name and now it exists as if it’s taking up space in the world alongside you, because you can no longer deny it without lying blatantly to the people you love.

 _No, Kanaya. It always had a name. It has always been this way_. Your cheeks are sticky and your eyes are ringed red in the mirror when you stand up, trails of shiny wetness glittering in the harsh white light. _You need to calm down or everyone will know something’s wrong._ You breathe shakily, lips parted, a soft gasping noise escaping your mouth. Your fingers slip over the lightswitch and you’re bathed in darkness, the red clock reading “5:09AM” guiding you to soft sheets. You lie with your eyes open, salvaging the precious moments of aloneness, and it is in the dark you close them and feel the electricity like jolts in your veins, feel hands flying over your waist and back as intensely as you did when it was real. You are afraid of seeing her, afraid of her face and what she will say, afraid of the words you need not finding a way to your throat or the wrong words spilling out of your mouth. But somewhere deep inside of you, you understand yourself. You feel as though you are finally becoming whole.

 

_Your mother is sitting on the couch, one leg thrown over another. The TV is blaring and you’re sitting beside her, shoveling yogurt into your mouth. There’s a small mess surrounding the two of you, a banner that says “Happy 14th Birthday!” In bright, shiny letters and a small assortment of torn gift wrap and cardboard boxes._

_“Ugh,” Her face is screwed up in a look of disgust, eyes trained on the television. “I just don’t understand. These children decide to be gay, and then they wonder why they get beat for it.”_

_“Uh, mom…” You feel your blood run cold at the sentence. “I’m pretty sure gay people don’t...like...choose to be gay or anything…” You say, a tremor falling through the last syllable. Your mother doesn’t notice._

_“Of course they do, honey,” She says, picking up the remote and turning off the TV. “Anyone can choose to accept Jesus into their hearts and he will make them whole again. I know you know that.” She stands up and dusts her skirts lightly, the indent on the couch slowly rising. Her footsteps echo up the stairs behind you, the creaking and popping of old wood like a well-worn drumming on your ears. You stretch out your legs and cross your feet in front of you, looking hard at the place your mother was sitting. You flick your tongue along the cold metal of the spoon in your mouth. You feel as though your mother might be wrong._

You don’t look at her as she walks in. For the first time, she doesn’t look at you as you sit hunched over at your desk either. Rose Lalonde spends the entirety of class with her nose buried in a book about Lovecraftian Horror, and you spend it trying desperately to concentrate on the work on your desk and erasing the little hearts that keep finding their way in your margins. It’s agonizing and painful because you realize how terrible and awkward you are, and you hate yourself for being so complicated and hurt over something most people would simply accept as a nice moment in their life. Everything is blurry and exhaustion is pricking at your limbs in waves, your eyes threatening to slide shut.

When the bell rings it startles you, but you are on your feet as quickly as possible. Like the day you met her, you are praying Rose acts as though you don’t exist. And like the day you met her, you feel fingers close around your shoulder.

“Kanaya, hey,” Rose says, a note of demurity sending your heart fluttering again. You are instantly nervous. “I just wanted to say- I’m really sorry about yesterday, I had no idea if you were-”

“It’s o-okay,” You manage to choke out, glancing shamefully at the fishnet pattern running over her calves. “It was...it was nice.”

“I just...I don’t want you to feel like I rushed you into anything,” Rose offers, the toe of her shoe tracing an arc across the floor. “We haven’t known each other for that long...I shouldn’t have made up needing tutoring.”

“You made up the tutoring?” You should be frustrated, but instead you are flattered. You can tell your cheeks are red, but so are hers.

“Yeah I...my old school’s curriculum ran way faster than this one. I’m far past caught up right now.” She laughs, but it’s strained. You want nothing more than to snake your fingers around her waist, but the clamoring of the halls reminds you that you can’t.

“Oh,” Is all you can say for a moment, and the two of you stand there looking pointedly at the floor. “I mean...I really liked it,” You say, feeling your heart catch in your throat. “And I really like you, but-”

“But?” Rose says, looking into your eyes, intensity flaring like grey fire.

“-But I mean...no one can know...I mean,” you stutter to find the words. “No one knows I’m...you know.” You feel empty and whiny, and you’re sure she will turn on her heel and walk away, leaving your life forever. Instead, she chews thoughtfully on her lower lip as though she is considering your sentence.

“Well then,” She smiles brightly. “No one has to know! Can you meet me in the library after school today?”

“Of course,” You say quietly, and she waves in thanks as she trots down the hallway. The relief is immediate and a soft sigh escapes your throat before you can stop it, your arms wrapping tightly around the books in your arms and your heart is fluttering wildly in your chest.

 

“Hey, Kanaya!” Feferi waves an arm from across the room and you go to take your place beside her. Eridan is sitting on her other side, tapping idly at his phone, scarf wrapped to just under his nose. Feferi’s thick thighs are crossed in front of her, foot tapping against the carpeted library floor. There are notes scrawled in a toddler’s handwriting lying next to some sentences written in a flowery scrawl. Copying Eridan’s notes again, albeit slowly.

A tall, skinny boy in an xbox shirt and baggy pants nudges your shoulder and you move over to let him in. He looks like a k-pop star that hasn’t showered anytime recently, and his bony arm snakes around Feferi’s waist.

“‘Sup Kanaya?” There’s a slight lisp dusting his voice. One blue and one brown eye look at you slyly, a wide smile on his lips. You have always loved Sollux’s eyes. He was born with a condition called Heterochromia, which he proudly tells everyone about. His eyes are like an imperfect division between land and sea, beautiful and jarring. When you were younger you told him they were a gift from God, and he told you God did not exist. He watches you intently as you smile and wave slightly.

“Heard you been coming in the library when you aren’t supposed to,” He narrows his eyes behind his glasses.

“Oh,” You run your fingers along the collar of your shirt. Suddenly, his eyes are not beautiful, but piercing. “Yeah...I just come in to study, have you been leaving it unlocked?”

“Maybe I heard you wanted it unlocked,” You feel his eyes on your face, searching, but you will yourself to act as though it doesn’t matter.

“Why would I want it unlocked?”

“You said it yourself. Studying?” He laughs lightly and pats your head with his free hand. “Just doing a friend a favor, if you know what I mean.” You can feel the redness on your cheeks and ears.

“If you’re lucky,” He looks away from you, up at the fluorescent lights. “It’ll be unlocked again today!”

 

Rose’s head is heavy on your shoulder, the length of her arm pressed to yours, hands entwined. You feel as though she is fragile - you don’t want to move because she might move from you, and you enjoy every moment from her slightly clammy hands to the soft hair you inadvertently have been breathing. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, as though she is tasting the air around the two of you. Suddenly, she stirs, her grey eyes looking into yours.

“So you haven’t told anyone that... _you know_ ,” She says it quietly, her thumb rubbing lightly at the skin on your hand.

“That I’m gay?” You force the word past your lips as you did the night before, and suddenly it is real and almost tangible to not just yourself but her as well. You don’t wish to play a game of verbal tap dancing where frankness is due. “No. I can’t tell anyone.” Rose pulls you into her, her lips resting on your neck. Her breath is hot and it makes you shiver as she untangles her fingers from yours and snakes her arms around your waist.

“It’s okay,” She mumbles into your skin. You can feel your heart hammering and you feel aware of every fold in your clothes, of where your hands are and the way you’re sitting, of Rose’s elbows poking lightly into your hip bones. The spines of books you have not heard of nor read are leaving marks in your back as Rose pulls your face towards hers and one of your hands traces the line of her collarbone before you realize you have moved.

“It’s okay,” she repeats, her breath hot against your lips. And despite everything, it is.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature content warning becomes kind of relevant this chapter for sexual themes.

The soft thrumming of rain against metal and the roar of the car’s engine are driving against your ears, raindrops running like fingers over the windshield. You are in a bubble of warmth, insulated from the harshness of the world outside. Rose is slumped against the passenger side door, staring into the darkness outside of the car. It feels like you are alone in the world, expanses of field and sky without the bother of another pair of headlights shining white into your eyes. The complete silence is comforting and the moment is so perfect it would be sullied by even the soft sound of the radio, your foot pressing lightly on the gas pedal and the girl you hold dearly riding untouched through the great expanse of the Earth.

“I’m going to tell my mother I’m gay,” you say quietly, and there is the sound of fabric shifting as rose sits up beside you. She curls her fingers over the hand in your lap and you focus on the road.

“You don’t have to,” her voice is impossibly quiet. “You really, really don’t have to.”

“I want to.” The lines down the center of the road are blurring and the sky above you looks glassy like water. You try hard to crush the feeling down and blink away the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Kanaya…” Rose whispers and you squeeze your fingers around hers tightly, not for the sake of her but for the sake of yourself. “No matter what, I will be here for you.”

“I know,” it comes out somewhat broken, pathetic to your own ears. Rose’s thumb rubs circles on your palm, the barrier of existence torn by a dim yellow porch light shining in the distance. The long driveway to your house is bumpy, shallow holes riddling the dirt from years of abuse at nature’s hand.

You turn the car key and the roar of the world dulls to the dim thrumming sound of rain. You open the door and welcome the cold wetness like a shock against your system that is raw and real. There’s something about bringing your girlfriend home to your mother has left you anxious and afraid despite the fact that she has no way of knowing you are romantically involved. You push open the door, Rose in tow, and let yourself into the warm home. Your mother is sitting cross-legged on the couch, and she smiles when the two of you walk in.

“Hello, Kanaya,” she says as her eyes drift behind you. “And you must be Rose, welcome to our house. Kanaya has told me a lot about you. Please, make yourself at home, dear.” You have in fact not told your mom a lot about Rose aside from the fact she exists.

“Nice to meet you, miss Maryam,” Rose waves at your mother and you trot quickly up the stairs and into your room. You’re suddenly embarrassed at the state of it, scraps of fabric and unfinished projects littered in one corner of the room, and overflowing bookshelf in another, and an unmade bed overflowing with pillows in the center of it all. Rose smiles and pushes the door shut with her foot.

“Sorry it’s so dirty,” you offer, and Rose laughs.

“I think it’s great,” she says, looking around the room. The two of you stand there in silence for a moment before she follows with, “Might as well get on with what’s going to happen anyway,” grabbing your wrist and pulling you down to sit on the bed. She pulls you into her lap and wraps her arms over your shoulders, bending down into you to kiss your neck. A soft sigh bubbles up from your chest as she drags her lips over your ear. You feel dirty in that your mother is sitting in the room beneath you oblivious to the less than savory acts her daughter is committing with another woman.

You feel the familiar anxiety that you have disappointed her and then the sharp feeling that you don’t care, that parents can be wrong. That you’ve been living for seventeen years without giving in to your feelings, and tonight will be your own. Roses hands wrap around your waist and you let out a soft mewling noise when she bites your neck lightly. Your mind feels like it’s melting, the only coherent thought left being _where did she learn this?_

You turn around awkwardly and she lets herself fall backwards, her legs between yours. It feels like a movie, a cliche lovers pose, Rose’s short blonde hair falling over her eyes, the curve of her body. You feel _hungry_ , every part of you, your eyes and your hands and your lips, and you are for the millionth time so glad for the lavender-grey eyes staring up at you. Her lips are quirked in a smile as you try to keep your composure and stop your hands from shaking. There’s a moment where the two of you say nothing, and then Rose’s arms wrap around the back of your neck and pull you into her, your lips colliding and your eyes fluttering shut automatically. Her tongue moves over the edge of your lips and with a renewed burst of nervous excitement you open your mouth. Your hands wander to her sides and beneath her to pull your into you and she groans, a rush of air into your throat. Rose grabs ahold of your wrist and pushes it under the edge of her shirt. Half lidded, you look down. You feel consumed by your emotion as stars burst behind your eyelids like fireworks, and there’s a startling emptiness in your brain that is home only to the desperate need to feel her skin pressed against your own.

 _Courage, Kanaya,_ you tell yourself, pushing up the fabric of Rose’s shirt, running your fingers over the soft expanse of her stomach, over the slight curve of the skin over her ribs. Your fingers rub against the fabric of her bra, simple and plainly the color of her skin, and you hook them underneath and feel the hard wire digging into your skin, feel the imprints of the marks it left on her skin. Your fingers are numb and shaky and Rose has the look of a snake, sly and grinning like she is enjoying the deep redness of your face, like she is trying to pry into the cogs of your brain. As your hands run over the curve of her breasts her eyes screw shut hard and she sucks in air sharply, her mouth turned up in a smile. She is beautiful, but you are afraid, as her fingers curl inside the waistband of your skirt and push it around the curve of your thigh so it falls to your knees, as you break free from her and slide your shirt around your shoulders as she does the same.

You are conscious at the way your stomach is not flat, of the scar running over your hipbone from when you fell from a tree in elementary school, how your boobs are not as big as Rose’s, of your somewhat boyish figure, of your sweaty palms.

“You’re so beautiful,” Rose whispers, running her hands along your bare waist, pushing her head into the curve of your neck and kissing your collarbone.

A low moan is all you manage to say back, Rose’s hands finding your backside and squeezing it hard. Her fingers push against the edge of your underwear and suddenly panic flares up in your chest, wild and fierce. You wrap your fingers around hers and push her hand away slightly. She stops kissing you and look up at your face, her fingers dancing over your jaw.

“Are you alright?” She says quietly, and you shake your head. “Do you want to stop?” You nod, muted by the knot in your throat.

“Okay,” she smiles and you slowly let yourself lie against her, the warm feeling of her heartbeat hammering against your own. Her thumb traces circles over your collarbone.

“It’s not your fault,” you say after an eternity. You are ashamed and embarrassed and have trouble meeting her eyes. “I just don’t...feel like I’m ready to...you know.”

“It’s okay not to be ready,” Rose says softly, and suddenly you are crying for a reason you don’t really understand. It is not fear but shame, tears pouring over your cheeks, salty like ocean water.

“I-m...sorry,” Your voice is breaking. You rub your thumb under your eye, against the wetness of your cheeks. “I don’t really know why I’m crying,” the last syllable comes out upturned like a laugh.

“It’s okay, It’s okay,” Rose says, panic flaring in her eyes. “Please don’t cry.” You taste saltiness on your lips as she kisses you and rolls you onto your side, pulling your body into hers. Your eyes drift to the light shining dimply on your bedside desk, the childish lavender and white of your walls that you remember choosing when you had barely learned your colors. The stuffed animals and books stacked on a shelf collecting dust, the dim blue glow of the light on your laptop. You feel the warmth of another person’s body against your own, the curve of her stomach pressed against yours, her breath warm on your face, stormy eyes searching softly within you. After a moment of silence, your eyes are dry but a sticky feeling is left on your cheeks and you have courage to speak again.

“I don’t really know why that happened,” Your words shatter the silence of the room. “I’m so afraid of my mom finding out...and I just don’t think I’m ready.”

“I understand,” Rose says softly. Her voice reminds you of a time you went to the beach, far, far away, soft white sand sticking flush to your skin. Your mother handing you a shell and whispering, _If you hold it to your ear, you can hear the ocean inside._

You can hear the ocean beside you.

 

 


End file.
